


Sold For Parts

by BalefireFlatlands



Series: Sold For Parts [1]
Category: Mad Max (Video Game 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2019-09-18 13:04:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16995516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BalefireFlatlands/pseuds/BalefireFlatlands
Summary: Jeet gets a shipment he most definitely did not order.





	Sold For Parts

Jeet looked up from the paperwork he’d been doing, invoices piled all around him. His glass enclosed manager’s office afforded him a great view of his operation, trucks coming and going, plain brown boxes being labeled on an assembly line and shipped out. It would have been so much easier if he could computerize everything, but computers could be hacked or seized. If a piece of paper was destroyed, it was gone forever. And when you were operating something illegal at this scale, having all the evidence vanish completely was the difference between freedom and a life behind bars.

There was a small commotion as the metal rollup door was raised and an unfamiliar green van backed into the factory. Jeet bolted up, ready to initiate the process of sending the entire factory up in flames if this happened to be someone from the government. And there was going to be hell to pay from his employees who’d let them in the warehouse in the first place. But one of his own drivers hopped out of the vehicle and opened up the back doors to show a plethora of boxes and supplies. That was odd. Sure Jeet dealt in items that ‘fell off trucks’ but generally the trucks didn’t come as part of the deal.

Rubbing his temples he shouldered his shotgun and clomped down the metal staircase to investigate. His eyes widened slightly as one of his people opened up a box and showed him the contents; this box was all clear tubing, that one was full of forceps. There were machines that were used, but still in good shape, and just from the small amount that had been unpacked there was a fortune worth of medical supplies in this van.

“What happened to the driver?” Jeet pulled another box out of the van, this one heavier and full of saline solution.

The worker who’d found it shrugged. “I was driving the old police car and the guy ditched it when he saw me.”

Snorting Jeet shook his head. That worked so often he was surprised anyone found anything anymore. Unless his workers were just killing people and taking their stuff in which case he didn’t want to know about it. Plausible deniability.

From inside the van came a thud and some muffled human sounding noises. Jeet backed up, startled, as a dozen people behind him pulled guns and aimed past him into the back of the van. But nothing else happened. Just a few thunks and then shuffling sounds. Jeet eyed the remaining boxes warily, he had a very odd feeling about this.

More boxes were unpacked and the sounds got louder, the source becoming clear as a wooden box was revealed deeper in the van. It was the right size to hold a person with several thick ratchet straps keeping the lid firmly closed. His crew pulled the box down onto the ground and started working on the bindings, a few of them training their guns on it as the lid was finally pulled off.

The person inside reacted immediately and violently, yelling and striking out with both fists, wrists bound together with a length of chain that circled around his arms and upper torso. Whatever he was yelling about was completely unintelligible due to a thick rope shoved in his mouth and tied behind his head. There was blood trickling from his hands and corners of his mouth and the box reeked, he’d been in there long enough to piss himself. Everyone backed up a bit, giving him room in case he was dangerous.

The furious movement died down almost as soon as it started when it became obvious that he couldn’t get out of the box. Jeet cautiously approached, staring down as the captive glared back at him, pupils so hugely dilated it was impossible to tell what color his eyes were. He was wearing hospital scrubs in a minty green color, but the shaved head and multitude of tattoos proclaimed that this wasn’t a doctor. Tattooed lines down his lips and up from his eyes gave him a weird skeletal appearance, made even more unsettling by the bloody grimace on his face, crimson stains between all his teeth from the rope burns across his cheeks. There was a black lump of something against his side and Jeet plucked it from the box quickly before the bound man could respond. It was a jacket, leather with harsh discoloration and tears where patches had once been.

Jeet tossed it to the side, inciting an outburst from the man in the box who surged up to try and get at him, but he couldn’t raise his arms high enough to get a grip on the wooden rim of his prison. Backing up Jeet weighed his options. He could walk away and let his crew dispose of the problem, or he could let him go and send him on his way, hoping that he didn’t tell anyone anything he’d seen here. As much as just killing him outright would be the practical and easiest thing to do, Jeet was brimming over with curiosity about why he was in the box in the first place.

“Get him out of there.”

A few people stepped forward, keeping their guns aimed at the prisoner as he was lifted out of the box and dumped on the floor. His snarls got very high pitched and he lay there dazed for a few seconds before twisting around onto his side. Something was very wrong with him other than just being disoriented from being stuck in a box for who knew how long. He was trembling, wheezing and panting and though he was struggling in earnest, he wasn’t actually moving anywhere.

Or getting up.

Poking him with the shotgun Jeet knocked him over onto his back, eyeing his jumbled up legs with the barest hint of concern, “The hell is wrong with you?”

“He has heatstroke.”

Everyone turned. Standing off to the side was the sickly little chemist in Jeet’s employ wearing something garishly mustard yellow and mismatched. He wasn’t looking at them though, he was watching the man on the ground, “I’ve had it before, it’s terrible. That’s why he’s shaking like that.”

The warehouse was air conditioned, it had to be in the oppressive humidity of the South, and it had been a while since Jeet had been outside but it was nearing triple digits. The plates on the van were from out of state; he’d been in that box sweltering for hours, possibly days.

Jeet cursed and hauled the one-armed chemist back from where he’d knelt next to the captive, untying the rope from his mouth, “Dammit, Blas.”

It wasn’t that Blas was stupid, he just failed to see the danger in any situation. Why he thought it was a good idea to approach a tattooed, tied up biker and free him was anyone’s guess.

The man on the floor coughed and stretched his jaw, rolling onto his shoulder, “Untie my hands.” His voice was hoarse and gasping, overheated and dehydrated.

“Right, and have you running around trashing the place.”

Jeet wasn’t sure why that was so funny, but the captive burst into silent hysterical laughter until he started hacking and gasping again. Blas had disappeared from his side and Jeet was really at a loss. He couldn’t keep this guy tied up forever, he’d have to either kill him, let him go, or maybe drop him off at the police station and claim he broke into his house or something. That would at least keep him away from the warehouse for a while.

“Tell me what you did to get shipped off in a box and I’ll think about it.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Growled out, barely understandable. He looked like he was going to say more but Blas was back, kneeling down by his head and offering him a bottle of water. He quieted, eyes flicking over Blas in confusion as he brought his bound hands up to take the water, drinking greedily.

Jeet sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Fine. What do we call you while I decide what the hell to do with you?”

“Scab.” He’d started looking around the place, clearly perplexed and expecting to be somewhere else.

Tilting his head at him Blas spoke again, “You have your own name tattooed on your knuckles?”

Scab threw the empty waterbottle at him, “You got a problem with that?”

“Hey!” Jeet rested the barrel of his shotgun against Scab’s throat. “Be nice or I put you back in the box and ship you off to wherever you were going in the first place.”

Scab reacted to the gun with the casualness of someone who had guns pulled on him daily, but the threat of sending him where he had been going actually got him to grudgingly roll on his back and raise his palms up in defeat. Jeet swung the gun over his shoulder again and squatted down, unhooking the chain from around his shoulders and unwinding it, but leaving his wrists hooked together.

Tugging on the chain a bit Jeet backed up towards the staircase. “Alright, get up.”

There was a pause where Scab rolled over onto his side, propping himself up onto his elbow and staring at the ground before he mumbled something unintelligible. Jeet pulled on the chain harder nearly causing him to topple over, clearly losing his patience.

“I can’t.”

Jeet narrowed his eyes, expecting this was some sort of trap, “What do you mean you can’t?”

No response as Scab continued to look anywhere but at Jeet. Blas was still on the ground next to him and he reached out to touch Scab’s sprawled out legs, getting a good grip on his pants and attempting to untangle them. Scab didn’t realize what he was doing and the resulting position sent him off balance and he fell heavily onto his forearms, making a sharp sound of surprise and glaring at Blas.

Sudden realization dawned on Jeet and he dropped his arms to the side, even more unsure what he was going to do with him than he had been before. “Attack me and I’ll blow your head off, got it?”

Tossing the chain on the ground he knelt behind Scab, shoving his hands under his armpits and starting to drag him backwards towards the staircase. Scab didn’t attack him, but he was clearly not happy about this situation, grinding his teeth as he hung limply in Jeet’s arms.

Blas followed along behind him, holding another bottle of water. When Jeet deposited Scab on the ground by the staircase Blas sat down on the ground next to him, “Can I untie him?”

“Yeah, he can have his arms back.” Not like he was going anywhere. Jeet turned and glared at the still assembled employees. “And you all, get back to work.”

Blas worked the chain free, sliding it off his hands, and offering the water to him. Rubbing his wrists he sized up Blas, taking the water instead of attacking him like he’d intended to when he was set free. Something about Blas was unsettling, he didn’t know how to react to someone being nice to him. Quickly downing the water he shifted onto his back, closing his eyes and reaching up to rub at his aching jaw. He felt terrible. Dizzy and disoriented and weirdly detached from being pumped full of tranquilizers that were only just starting to wear off. All he wanted to do was sleep. He couldn’t though. Shouldn’t when he was in a strange place with people who were probably going to kill him.

—

Scab woke with a start, having not intended to fall asleep. Judging from the dim light filtering through the high warehouse windows it was early evening, he’d been out for hours. He was also on his side, which was strange, comfortable, but strange.

“You hungry?

Grunting, Scab tilted his head to look over at Blas who was sitting next to him. Had he been sitting there the whole time he’d been asleep? Is that how he’d gotten arranged on his side like he was? He wanted to yell at him, make them all leave him alone and let him go. But he didn’t have it in him to yell at much of anything right now.

"Yeah.”

Blas smiled at him and got to his feet disappearing out of view and leaving Scab to ponder what the hell was going on. He had no idea where he was, but everyone had guns. The wiry guy in the camouflage pants was obviously the leader, but he didn’t understand Blas at all. Dusky skinned and blue eyed, he had a nasally accent that Scab couldn’t quite place, and he was missing most of his left arm. It was a very odd combination of people.

Returning with Jeet in tow, Blas sat back down by Scab, offering him a triangle of a sandwich. Scab devoured it ravenously, staring suspiciously at the papers in the other man’s hand.

“Who the hell did you piss off to do this to you?” Jeet held up the papers sounding less sarcastic and more honestly perplexed.

Gulping down the rest of the sandwich Scab pushed himself up into a vaguely sitting position. “I didn’t.” Okay that wasn’t entirely true, but he hadn’t done anything specifically to warrant what was being done to him. Gesturing down to his legs he scowled, “This happened.”

“Is it because of the holes in your back? Your tattoos are all mussed up.” Blas had noticed them when he was trying to shift Scab around into a more comfortable position, fascinated by all the colorful images on his skin.

“I got shot.” He nodded to Jeet, “How much am I worth?”

“All together?” Jeet shuffled the pages around. “About half a million. So someone is missing a nice payday because we stole that van.” Someone who wouldn’t be happy and would be looking for them. And that wasn’t even counting all the product that was in there with Scab.

Scab was having trouble staying upright and Blas unhesitatingly leaned forward to help prop him up. That was unexpected but Scab leaned on him heavily to get situated, settling against the staircase and letting out a sigh of relief. His back was killing him, “It’s your payday now, isn’t it?”

Frowning Jeet looked down at the papers in his hands, documents that promised payment on delivery of a live healthy human. It was a lot of money. But while he commonly dealt in things that were illegal and on the black market, human trafficking was a whole other thing. One he didn’t want any part of.

“I’m not gonna send you off to be cut up for parts.” Jeet ignored Scab’s reaction, disturbed that someone had even considered doing that to another person. He didn’t want to know how that would be accomplished, were they just going to start carving out Scab’s organs while he was still alive? Would they even use anesthetic? He didn’t know anything about him, but no one deserved that.

Of course that left the problem of what was he going to do with Scab now. He couldn’t just leave him on the floor of the warehouse forever. “You’re in some sort of gang right?”

Eyes shifting around Scab shook his head, “I was.”

“You left?” Jeet didn’t know much about gangs, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t how it worked.

“No.” Scab rubbed at his stomach, the bullet wounds were mostly in his back, but a few had gone right through and they weren’t all fully healed, itching constantly. “Worthless if I can’t ride.”

“Or worth about half a mil.”

Scab winced, “Yeah.”

Pieces were falling together for Jeet, “You got shot, couldn’t walk anymore and they sold you to the black market?” He whistled lowly, what a shitty deal.

Nodding Scab looked away, wanting to attack something, bitterness and betrayal rising up like bile. He felt sick and enraged in equal parts. But the closest person to him was Blas, and he wasn’t enough of a monster to attack someone who’d been bringing him food.

“Right.” Jeet was going to regret this. He knew it. “You can stay here til we figure out what to do with you. Just don’t attack anyone.” He might not be able to walk, but he was still dangerous; even if Blas was comfortable sitting next to him and rubbing his shoulder encouragingly, Jeet wasn’t about to let his guard down.

“And we’ll get you some clothes that aren’t those.” Jeet knew nothing about clothing and Blas was a walking fashion disaster, but there was something wrong about a guy tattooed from head to toe wearing paper thin seafoam green hospital scrubs.

Scab looked up briefly to meet Jeet’s eyes, and then over at Blas, Everything was happening so fast. It had only been a month since he’d been paralyzed, and his entire life had turned upside down. He still didn’t understand what was going on, but at least for the time being he wasn’t about to die. Convinced he had hit rock bottom, he’d been resigned to a short miserable life until he died or was killed, in some horrible way he was sure.

He wasn’t sure if he believed Jeet, didn’t understand the altruistic gesture. But he supposed he didn’t have much of a choice. Blas was still sitting there, keeping him upright and the close contact felt nice even if all he was doing was being a backrest. At least he was out of the box and all in one piece, even if some of his pieces didn’t work anymore. He was confused, distrustful of this situation and Jeet couldn’t blame him. Why would strangers keep him alive instead of collecting a small fortune?

Blas turned to him, reaching out to trace the dragon wrapping around his shoulder with his fingers, “Tell me about all these.”

Rolling his eyes Jeet threw up his arms and left, safe with the knowledge that Scab wasn’t going to try and throttle Blas in the next few minutes. If he was going to he would have already.

Scab got something resembling a smirk on his face as he looked over at Blas, “You haven’t even seen the good ones yet.”


End file.
